Amnesia
by LadyoftheDoves
Summary: Sherlock? Sherlock who?
I wake up on the old sofa in my flat in 221B, yawning loudly.

 _I must have fallen asleep_ I think, stretching my arms and wrapping my dressing gown tighter around me.

 _I'll get John to make me tea whenever he wakes up- which should be..._ I glanced at the clock for guidance _. right about... Now._

As if on cue, the army doctor saunters out of his bedroom, running his fingers through his dirty-blond hair.

He takes notice of me lying on the sofa, and looks quite startled.

"Morning, John."

"Who the _hell_ are you? What are you doing in my flat?"

I blink up at him surprised.

"What?"

"And how do you know my name?"

"What?"

"Get out now, or I'm calling the police!"

 _"What?"_

"Mrs. Hudson!"

The landlady appeared, shock written across her face as well.

"Who is this?"

"I'm not sure, he just showed up sometime in the night. I'm _positive_ the door was locked. Did you see him?"

"Never in my life. I don't know John, how _could_ he have gotten in?"

"Maybe he came through the win-Ah!"

I grab John by the shoulders and shake him, hard.

"John, stop it! It's _me_ , Sherlock Holmes, now snap out of it!"

John immediately shoves me away and holds me at arms length.

"I've never met you in my life. Now I'm really calling the police, you're insane!"

So, I sit back down on the sofa as I let my flatmate phone the police.

 _Lestrade! He'll remember me, won't he? Or Anderson or Donovan, at the least..._

 **...**

"Who the hell is he?"

 _Oh, fantastic. Gavin too._

"Gary, it's me, Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective!"

John, Lestrade, Donovan, and half a dozen other police officers who I _know_ I've met before stare at me blankly.

"Who's Gary?" Lestrade looks confused.

"And does that job even exist? A "consulting detective"? Really?" Donovan rolls her eyes at me. I scoff at her.

"Of course it does. I made it for myself," I retort.

"Alright "Mr. Holmes" let's get you down to the station, you've been charged with breaking and entering." Lestrade dangles a pair of handcuffs from his finger.

I stay put.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Now come on."

"No, no, I live here, I'll prove it!" I shout, pushing past the officers and into the hallway, where I stand by my bedroom door and scream at John and Lestrade, who have followed me.

"This is my room. I'll show you _my room_. Now tell me I don't live here!"

I shove the door open. Then I stupidly stare in shock at what should be my room, but isn't.

The bed is neatly made, the nightstand is clear of the mold I had grown there as an experiment, and there is no trace of chemical stains on my wall.

I throw open the dresser, only to find my suits have been replaced by those atrocious jumpers, and my sock index is gone, replaced by a messy tangle of mixed-up socks.

"Alright, enough of this, now get out of my bedroom and go with the police."

I turn back to John.

"The kitchen! I'll show you, let me see the kitchen!"

The fridge only has normal things, with not even the slightest trace of blood anywhere. The table and counter top are both stain-free.

Even the tea set I used all the time simply because John hated it sat in the back of the cupboard, covered in dust.

This is impossible, simply impossible. How could I simply cease to exist in my friend's memories? Did I just never meet them? Was I someone else who had hit their head a bit to hard and believed in a complete fantasy?

 **...**

"One phone call, that's all you're getting."

I punch in the number on the faded, metallic keys.

"Hello, whoever this is, I'm very busy right now, make it quick."

"Mycroft!" I'd never been as happy to hear his voice.

"I'm sorry, who's this?"

"It's me, Sherlock, I'm down at the police station. Everyone's forgotten me, come bail me out!"

"I still don't understand, who are you and how did you get my number?"

 _Wonderful, Mycroft too?_

"It's Sherlock, your brother?"

"I'm an only child."

"Oh, screw you. Don't mind me, I'm just some stupid drug addict who probably got high and hit his head somewhere."

I hang up quickly.

Then I sit quietly in the little holding cell, doubting that I existed.

 **...**

"Alright, Mr. Holmes, you've got someone willing to bail you out."

I jump up immediately in surprise. I look the guard up and down.

 _Recently married, plans to go to the pub tonight, ill elder brother_

I pause for a split second, loosing my train of thought.

 _Am I just making these deductions up? Where did I find out how to do it, if not from Mycroft?_

I shake my head, bringing myself back to reality.

"Who?"

John Watson stands with his hands clasped behind his back and looking around innocently, reminiscent of the way he had stood amidst the crime scene right after he shot the cabbie. Looking like he'd never seen anything like this before. _Wrong. So, so, wrong_ He's been in jail cells before, namely because of me, but that didn't matter, it was all fake. The man who had shot someone, had bombs strapped to his chest, had saved me from death more times than I could count, had never done those things. I had invented John Watson. My one and only...friend. A dull ache goes through my stomach as I think about how all of that was fake, a figment of my imagination.

 _Emotions? Why do I have emotions? Something is wrong. I'm sure..._

 **...**

John refuses to tell me the reason behind him bailing me out. Probably pity. Not because he was my friend, not because he couldn't just leave me in that cell, but pity for the poor, delusional man he found in his flat.

We walk along the pavement in silence. Awkward, heavy silence, the kind between strangers. Nothing like the comfortable, yet adrenaline charged silence _my_ John Watson and I shared.

"So, Mr. Holmes." John insists on calling me that, despite my protests. It just seems _so_ wrong to me. Just like everything else now.

"Sherlock can't be your real name. It's ridiculous, no offense. What about something more normal. How 'bout April, hmm? That's a good name?"

I don't reply. All I can think is that I don't exist, and that the closest thing I have to a friend thinks I should have a girl's name.

"And the last name. April Holmes doesn't have a good ring to it, now, does it? What about... April Fools?"

I slowly turn to face John. A huge grin spreads across his face.

"You little..."

 **...**

"So you drug me for forty-eight hours so you can clean up the flat and to ensure that I would be disoriented when I woke up, get the entire Scotland Yard _and_ Mycroft to play along with you for an April Fool's day trick?"

"That pretty much sums it up, yeah."

"...I'm getting you back for this."

"Well, good luck with that." John rises from his chair and stretches, picking up his coat and walking towards the door. "See ya at eight, I had to reschedule my hours at the surgery."

 **...**

I blink several dozen times as I behold the spectacle in the living room of 221B.

Sherlock Holmes is sitting on the couch.

Snogging Moriarty.

 _Jim Moriarty._

I drop the white plastic bags I am holding to gape at the sight.

Sherlock breaks the kiss as he turns around to look at me, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Hello, John. You're home early."

"You're kissing him."

"Yes I am."

I keep staring.

"What? You said it was fine if I had a boyfriend!"

"But _Moriarty._ "

"So?"

"You know what? I don't care. I don't even want to know. Just...carry on."

I turn my back and rush upstairs to my bedroom, leaving my flatmate and his worst enemy snogging on the couch.

 **...**

As soon as John leaves, we break apart, both wiping our mouths with the back of our sleeves.

We look at each other for a moment, then burst into fits of laughter.

"Did- did you see his face?" I choke out.

 _"Priceless!"_

When our giggles die out, Moriarty sighs and shakes his head.

" _Can't believe_ I agreed to that. You're not a bad kisser, though."

"Thank you."

"Really. I mean it." Jim grins his psychotic grin.

"You may leave now." I gesture to the door.

"I'll be seeing you soon Sherlock. And next time it won't be for a prank."

I sigh. "Yes yes, just leave."

The door slams shut.

I smile to myself.

 _Happy April Fool's day, John._

 **YAY! Months of work on this!**

 **Sherlock was feeling emotional pain because he was drugged; in The Sign of Three Sherlock cries when intoxicated.**

 **Okay, thank you so much for reading. I wish I could spend three months on everything I write!**

 **Alright. This is being uploaded before school. I've got a big prank today am I'm very, very exited. It's taken seven months! Wish me luck!**

 **Happy AprilFoolsAprilFools, everyone!**


End file.
